Trimming the Tree – Christmas Past

When I was growing up our tree was usually a cedar tree, which grew in abundance in the area surrounding out house. Dad, or the boys, just walked out until they found one of the desired size and symmetry. As to specifics, I recall only one year, when I followed my oldest brother as he walked through the snow to choose a tree that grew between our house and the state road. This would have been either 1933 or 1934, when we lived in that first house on Hwy No. 8.

For decorating the tree, the store-bought items we had were red and green roping [garlands] and icicles [tinsel]. We may have had some commercial ornaments too; I’m not sure, but we also made decorations. In the weeks before Christmas, we made chain links out of strips of colored construction paper, pasting them together to make a chain, or chains, long enough to drape around the tree. We also drew, or traced Christmas symbols on light cardboard [another use for shoe box material]. Then we colored them with crayons, or pasted colored construction paper over them, or perhaps decorated them to our individual inclinations. The angel or Christmas tree on top of the tree was usually home made also.

We did not keep the trees up too long. It was put up a couple of days before Christmas and was taken down a day or two afterward. As I recall, cedar trees were bad for dropping their needles, and required a sweep-up of the fallen tree needles each morning. Perhaps that was why they didn’t stay up very long.

In my own household after marriage, we had to buy a tree from the local lot, and usually bought a pine or fir tree. Years later we bought an artificial tree. Everyone in the family wanted one but me, so we bought one. Later the other family members decided they liked a real tree better, but we continued to use the artificial tree, until Melvin set a heavy box on top of the box containing the tree and smashed it flat. I think that was thoughtless rather than deliberate – really. I bought another artificial tree because I had discovered I preferred the no-mess, no-watering feature of the artificial tree. We continued using that tree until after Melvin’s death.

We put the tree up a week before Christmas, Melvin putting up the tree and all of us taking part in the decoration. On New Year’s Day, I took off all the decorations and packed them away, and Melvin carried the tree out to the curb for the local pick-up.

After our children were grown, living elsewhere and if none could come home for Christmas, we didn’t put up a tree. That first year, none of our family would be home, at work we got to talking about ‘have you put up your tree yet?’ I said I wasn’t going to put up a tree. All were appalled and one of the women said I was going to have a tree, and she was coming to my house and put it up herself. She never did understand, but I finally managed to convince her that this was my choice, and so be it. A few times, I did set out a tiny table top tree, but not always.

In our present world, many families don’t live in the same area, and they can’t always get together. That was the circumstance of our lives. I refused to be sad about it and accepted it as the way it was, though I admit that first Christmas with only the two of us did seem a bit strange. But when you can’t sail into the wind, what do you do? You chart another course.

Christmas Past

The Christmases I remember all occurred in the nineteen-thirties. I don’t remember any before that and I don’t remember the Christmases of my teen years, except for the small gifts given to me by the young man I later married. I do remember one toy from pre-school days: a small old fashioned cook stove like the ones you see in old pioneer/western movies. It had a small coal bucket and tiny shovel. I had it for many years.

Nearly everyone has heard of the depression years, when most people didn’t have a great deal of money, and sometimes none. But, as I have expressed earlier, Dad did have a job all during those years, for which I am thankful. Our Christmases and the gift-giving of the time no doubt were shaped by economics and our parents own beliefs and backgrounds: something for everyone, but non-extravagance. I doubt if they would have been much more extravagant in gift-giving, even if they had had less children and more money.

As children usually are, we were all excited about Christmas, and awaited it eagerly. We didn’t hang stockings at our house, but during the year we each saved a new shoe box. On Christmas Eve, we set the boxes, with our names on them around the tree.[The names really weren't necessary as we all got the same thing, but afterward you would definitely want to know which box was yours.]

When morning came, the boxes had been filled with hard Christmas candies plus bon-bons and haystacks, nuts, an orange, and a whole pack of gum. Except for a special treat like this, gum was usually divided up by the stick, except when we could save up our pennies and buy it for ourselves.

We each got one special toy, with perhaps some smaller items of the 5 & 10 cent store variety, and maybe a game or two that we could all play. I got a doll until I was age seven. That year my mother said that if I didn’t play with this doll, she wasn’t buying me another one. I loved the dolls, but I thought they were so pretty, I didn’t want their beautiful clothes and themselves to get mussed up. I just wanted to enjoy looking at them. Apparently my mother didn’t understand that. Even so, I enjoyed that pretty doll, and kept her for many years. My mother was true to her word; I never got another one.

My one sister during those years was several years older than I, and apparently had decided she was past the playing with dolls age, by the time of my memories. The boys usually got a truck of some kind, with other small items. When they got a bigger toy, such as the famous “big red wagon,” a sled, and later a bike; those were share playthings. It wouldn’t have occurred to anyone that there should be one for each.

A week after Christmas came the New Year holiday. The shoe boxes were pretty much, if not all, emptied by that time. On New Year’s Eve these same empty boxes were set out again. They were once more filled with much the same thing as they had been for Christmas. In this case it was “Granddaddy Long Legs” who filled them. It seems that Granddaddy Long Legs, or Daddy Long Legs is the name for a mysterious giver, but I don't know the exact origin of this. [Perhaps I'll try to find out one day soon.] I believe this custom came from my mother’s family, where she, her brother, sister and widowed mother lived with their maternal grandparents until my mother was age nine. Granddaddy Long Legs in this case being Pa Ivie, her grandfather.

I didn’t know anyone else who practiced this custom until about 15 or 20 years ago I wrote about our Christmas custom for a newsletter. The publisher of the newsletter shared the custom with a group she met with, and one of the women told her that her family had done the same thing when she was a child.

You might wonder why I only mention the one doll I got when I was seven, if I tried to keep them looking the same way I got them. It’s like this: in addition to my older sister when I was growing up, I had two older brothers, and SIX younger brothers. Those little boys didn’t mind at all dragging the dolls around, if they could get hold of them when no one was looking. It didn’t take long at all for the dolls to look bedraggled.

After I was married, my parents had two more girls, for a total of twelve children. The older kids and the younger ones are a generation apart.

Pearl Harbor Day

December 7, 1941 - Pearl Harbor Day

It was a typical Sunday: morning church, a mid-day Sunday dinner, a bit more elaborate than weekday dinners; or supper, as we usually called our evening meal. Except for the big meal mid-day on Sunday, noon-time meals were usually lunch, with the occasional exception.

Melvin had come to visit in the afternoon. We had a light supper around five-o-clock, and not long afterwards began getting ready to go back to church for the Sunday evening service. My parents and the rest of the family had already gone. Melvin and I were getting ready to leave, but I had not yet turned off the radio. As I was getting my coat, the announcer told of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, leaving us stunned and in disbelief.

Needless to say, this was a major turning point in the lives of individuals, families and for our country. So many lives lost, others changed inevitably and irrevocably. Perhaps more later.

A Blessing Book

Christmas Stories for the Heart – Compiled by Alice Gray
Warms the heart - speaks to the soul.

Wanting to feel something of Christmas, I picked up this book on my last library run, and found many touching, heart-warming stories in it. One in particular that appealed to me was The Manger Was Empty, retold by Casandra Lindell, about a missing baby Jesus from a local church’s nativity scene. After searching around the church, the pastor reported the missing baby Jesus to the congregation. All were disappointed to think someone might take baby Jesus from the nativity scene.

Later in the afternoon, the pastor took a walk around the area and saw Tommy, a small boy he knew, pulling a wagon. As he came closer he saw baby Jesus, wrapped in a blanket, lying in the wagon. The pastor made it clear to little Tommy the seriousness of taking baby Jesus. The small boy looked up,tears beginning to slide down his cheeks and said, “But Pastor, I didn’t steal Jesus. It wasn’t like that at all. It’s just that I’ve been asking Him for a red wagon as a Christmas present for a long time—and I promised Him that when I got it I’d take Him out for the first ride.”

Another story was titled Daily Gifts by Charles Swindoll. He makes a number of one line suggestions, such as: "Mend a quarrel. Express appreciation. Give a soft answer even though you feel strongly. Encourage an older person." This last one might be difficult for me to do, if it means someone older than myself. I live in a seniors complex and right now I’m the oldest person here that I know, though I think there may be a few residents older than I am. I suppose I’ll just have to assume that everyone here is older than someone. Or maybe he means anyone who falls in a certain age category. [So you ask, where does old begin? I used to ask myself that; I don't anymore. Perhaps that too will become another blog.] Mr. Swindoll suggests maybe doing one of these gifts per day leading up to Christmas. [But why stop there?]

There are numerous other suggestions for giving gifts of yourself. Mr. Swindoll ends the list of gifts with the following:

“Let’s make Christmas one long, extended gift of ourselves to others. Unselfishly. Without announcement. Or obligation. Or reservation. Or hypocrisy. This is Christianity, isn’t it?”

Small Things That Make a Day

What’s happening here today? We had snow this morning – briefly. I haven’t been out yet to test the air today, but yesterday when I walked over to the next building to mail some letters and pick up mail from the day before, and to take the blue-bag recyclables to the dumpster, that wind was very cold. Not sure what the temperature was, but it’s the wind that gets to me when I go out in cold weather. It’s supposed to be 30ish today. Tomorrow may be up around 40.

I hope to go out and pick up some needed items tomorrow and return my library books if it isn’t too cold. If it is, I’ll push it off for another day. But first, I have to have a tire aired up, since it decided to start going down now.

One of the neighbors on my block brought me a Christmas card yesterday. She had enclosed a small handmade wreath, which is the cutest thing. It has several little circles, made from white fabric with red and green lines and holly berries on it. The small circles are the kind made when you take a larger circle, hem it, then make a running stitch near the edge, leaving several inches of dangling thread. You pull the thread until the edges of the fabric come nearly together. When you set it down and lay it flat, it makes a small, puffy circle. If you decide to make this, check to see if it is the way you want it before fastening the thread down and clipping off the remainder. It had little ‘gem studs’ here and there for added sparkle. Sequins would probably work too, depending on the fabric designs. Seven of these little circles were attached to each other to make a bigger circle [about 3 or 4 inches], with a ribbon at the top for hanging. It’s very attractive. Cheerful!

I had a pleasant, surprise early call this morning from a Presley second cousin once removed. Her father was my second cousin. She is the great-grandaughter of Lucretia Ellen Presley Earls, sister of our grandfather, Ansel Hampton Presley.

That's a peek at what's happening here. Merry Christmas to all.

Thanksgiving and After

My plans for Thanksgiving included dinner with Russ, Jan and family; however as sometimes happens to the best laid plans, mine went astray. I didn’t feel well, I think due to reaction to the new medication, that I hope might help with the after shingles pain. I didn’t feel like going anywhere, so I thought it best to stay home. Russ and the two youngest grandkids, Matthew and Kelsey, brought me a delicious dinner; which is not surprising since Jan is a very good cook. Fortunately, this round of not feeling up to snuff didn’t affect my taste buds and I enjoyed it all.

During the first months after getting the shingles, perhaps due to some of the medication, everything I ate tasted like so much nothing. I didn’t care if I ate or not, but knew I had to, so I forced myself to eat, though probably not as well as I should have.

I am gradually feeling better, but my head still doesn’t feel as it should. It’s rocking a bit as I write this; so, more R & R when I finish this piece. This R & R translates to reading and resting.

Needless to say, I spent a relatively lazy weekend, mostly doing just the essentials: one of those essentials being food intake. I had some broth left after putting the dressing together [before I began feeling so punk]. The broth would make good soup I thought. Then the idea of dumplings entered my mind, but it would have to be the quick and easy kind. So, I chopped a few carrots and a short stick of celery in my little food processor, along with a bit of onion and set it to boil. Next, I got out some baking mix and mixed about a half cup of that with a little olive oil, water, and a small amount of protein powder into a thick dough.

I wanted small dumplings, so I rolled the dough into about marble sized pieces, and dropped them into the boiling water. The broth absorbed enough of the dough to slightly thicken the soup. All of that, including the cooking, took little time, energy and effort. I think it was one of the best soups I’ve ever made.

Now back to resting again.

Support Our Service Men and Women

Operation YOU GO, GIRL! Send a holiday gift or card to a female service member.

I saw a segment about this site on television and looked it up. Operation You Go Girl is especially geared to women, because they can do things to help women of the area in ways our service men can't, because of the social structure with its limits on contacts between men and women. Some of the items mentioned are personal toiletries, ground coffee [the real deal, not decaf], etc. Check the site at the end of the blog.

Any gifts meant for Christmas need to be mailed by December 5th, but there are ongoing needs. You can find out more specific information about it by checking out the web site.

Getting a package for Christmas would be a Nice Thing, but if you can't get the above done in time for Christmas, or even if you do, the items mentioned are things always needed, so you could still send them.

The Do One Nice Thing site gives detailed directions on what, how, and to whom items to the armed forces should be sent.

Other items needed:
School supplies for Iraqi and Afghan children
Food for Kentucky children
Sweaters and sweathirts for Detroit families
Knitters: You can help

Addresses and further details on the above, plus other suggestions on Do One Nice Thing. Click on icon below blog.

Saying the Right Thing Rightly

"Lord, grant me the wisdom of a loving heart that I may say the right thing rightly."

Ah yes, saying the right thing, and saying it rightly! That's not always easy. Have you ever thought you were saying the right thing and the way another person took it, it was exactly the wrong thing? Then you tried to make clearer what you meant,and everything slid further down the slippery slope of misunderstanding. Perhaps this is one time when that saying of, "If at first you don't succeed, quit," might be appropriate, at least for the time being. Prayer before hand would have been a good idea, if you knew the conversation was coming, but perhaps you didn't know in advance. But, whether or not you prayed before an incident such as this, I'm sure it would be good to pray afterward -- in the event you get another chance to do the right thing. Blessings in all you do and say.

A Favorite Poem

In an earlier blog I mentioned some of my favorite poems. The one I'm posting today ranks very near the top. I've been trying to find my copy of it, or a copy online. I, as usual, did not remember the writer, but my memory said the title was "The Arrow."

I searched and searched on line, but kept finding references to other poems and poets. I 'met' this poem early in life, but about 30 years ago, some friends gave me a book of poems, titled "The Home Book of Modern Verse by Burton Egbert Stevenson." I am not sure what happened to the book, but I no longer seem to have it. Today I flipped through an old notebook of mine and would you believe it! I had copied the poem "The Arrow" by Clarence Urmy, with the notation above. So, here it is. I hope you like it, at least almost as much as I do.

The Arrow by Clarence Urmy

Straight from a mighty bow this truth is driven:
"They fail, and they alone, who have not striven."

Fly far, O shaft of light! all doubt redeeming;
Rouse men from dull despair and idle dreaming.

High Heaven's evangel be, gospel God-given:
"They fail, and they alone, who have not striven."

Focus on the second and last line. If you tried to do something, but did not quite achieve your desired goal, you may be disappointed; but in trying, you did not fail.

Before Television - Before Video Games

What did kids do to amuse themselves and have fun before the advent of television? And before video games? They did what people do: They made do with what was available and used their heads to think of other things to do. Movies were available, when we were allowed to go. Television was in its early beginning stages when I was a child. But it was just a blip on the radar screen, and few people had even heard of it yet. It didn’t come into prominence until after World War II.

In warm weather we spent most of any free time we had playing outdoors during long summer days. Some of the games we played were marbles, hop scotch, mumblety peg, tag, annie over, or some kind of ball game if there were enough kids to play. And generally just talking, yelling and running around.

Indoors: Evenings after supper, we read, played games and listened to the radio. In 1933 we moved from a small town out into the country. There was no electricity in most rural areas until after World War II, but we had a battery powered radio to keep an ear on the world. Programs we listened to were: Sgt Preston of the Yukon [may not be the exact name], Jack Armstrong - All American Boy, Gang Busters, Dick Tracy, The Lux Theater, Amos and Andy, Lum and Abner, Fibber Magee and Molly, The Shadow. There may be others that I haven’t thought of.

Most of these were 30 minute shows; one or two might have been 15 minutes, not sure. I think Sgt Preston and Jack Armstrong were daily shows along about the time we had our evening meal. They may have been 15 minutes. The other shows were weekly. We didn’t sit grouped around the radio to listen, but often engaged in other activities, such as children’s card games, or checkers while we listened to the fascinating tales of adventure. Ooops! How could I forget dominoes!

During the day, my mother kept up with a few to a few daily soap operas as she did her household tasks. Those that I remember were: Ma Perkins, Our Gal Sunday and Helen Trent.

In the winter when much more time was spent indoors, there was usually a jigsaw puzzle in various stages of completion. When a puzzle was finished, another was set up. Everybody wanted to put in the last piece, and when the puzzle was near completion, almost everyone had a hold out puzzle piece in his/her pocket. More later.

Low Mileage Driving

This past Thursday I had my car serviced for winter, and also had it inspected so I could renew my car license, which is due this month. Since the time has passed for warranty servicing, I usually have my car serviced in the spring and in the fall. This past spring I didn’t have it serviced, since I had driven it so little after the advent of the shingles last November. I last had the car serviced the week before Thanksgiving 2008. The number of miles put on the car in this past year is unbelievable. I’m sure I must have set a record for low mileage driving over the period of a year; so low, that I won’t even admit what it is. is really, really low, but you're under quite a bit. When they finished inspecting my car, the service manager handed me the papers and said, "Your car is in good shape; just as good as it was --- miles ago."

Legacy of Love

Notes Left Behind: I Love You drawings and notes by a six year old little girl, dying from cancer— to her mom, dad and little sister, Grace. She wasn’t supposed to know she was dying, but… Her parents have been finding the notes here and there: in books, drawers, on shelves between her books. So far they have three boxes of these notes. Little Elena lost her ability to speak, but could still write and draw. What a legacy of love to the family she left behind: A heartbreaking and heartwarming story at the same time.

The family has combined a journal and some of the notes and drawings, which are now being published; the proceeds going to a foundation created in memory of this marvelous little girl: The Cure Starts Now Cancer Research Foundation

I saw this story on the Today Show where you can read more about it on their web site. For more on the foundation go to
http://thecurestartsnow.org/

The Beauty of Autumn

One of the good things about living in Missouri is the colorful display we are treated to in the fall season. Something that the Florida branch of my family says they really miss are the changing seasons. They even miss snow. Snow I could get along without very well. But autumn, that is another story all together. It has always been my favorite season.

This is a new community where I now live, and there are no older, large trees; though plenty of smaller new ones. These smaller trees have had their share of color this year, and the leaves are now beginning to fall on the ground and blow about.

Among the shrubs that were planted were a number of fire bushes around the back side of the apartment building. They are starting to lose their leaves, but they have been absolutely beautiful, and they still have a lot of red left.

When we moved to the country after retirement, I planted some forsythia and fire bushes along the front of the property, by the road. The deer decided the fire bushes made a good meal and nibbled them almost to extinction until my husband put wire cages around the bushes. Then they were able to grow to a size that the deer left alone. They never attained the beauty of the ones we have here. Perhaps the forsythia bushes didn’t have as tender branches because the deer didn’t chew on them, just the fire bushes.

Earlier this morning when I went over to drop some mail in the outgoing letter box, it was quite cool and windy when I crossed the street to the apartment building. Sometimes the street seems like a wind tunnel the way the wind blows through it. However, this afternoon I walked over to pick up the mail, then went for a walk around the area and the weather had changed since morning. It was much warmer, the wind was ‘softer’ and my eyes feasted on the available colors, especially the red fire bushes. All in all, a beautiful fall day.

In years past, one of the things I enjoyed doing was taking drives around various parts of the state to see the beautiful fall colors; lunching somewhere along the way, then returning home tired, but satisfied with what we had once again glimpsed of God’s beautiful world. I can’t make those trips anymore, but I’m grateful for what is still available to me.

On Becoming a Parent

Two people made a significant impact on the raising of my children. One was their pediatrician. The other was a child guidance columnist.

When my life as a parent was just beginning, my confidence in being able to raise a child was pretty low on the scale, after the death of our first little girl at the age of just two months. On the plus side of actual physical care, I was fortunate to have as a pediatrician, Dr. Peter G. Danis [I was told the pronunciation sounded like donny]. I felt I knew next to nothing about child care, and I needed to know so many things.

When I asked my mother about any particular concern, she brusquely said, “Use your own common sense.” My reply was, “But, Mother, where children are concerned I have no common sense.” I had no way to relate child care to anything I had yet experienced in my young life.

But, Dr. Danis to the rescue: He had a pre-printed list, taking up an 8-1/2” x 14” page, with explicit directions as to what to do in specific situations. Then at the bottom of the page, he added, “If you still don’t know what to do; do nothing at all. Call the Doctor.” [The beginning of that sentence may have been worded a bit differently, but the rest of it sticks with me.] That page of detailed instructions to a young parent, and knowing I could reach out for more help if I needed to was a God send to me. I did develop some common sense after I learned enough to have something to base it on.

During my young adult years while raising my family, and for as long as the columns were available, there were a few columnists which I read regularly. One that I found enormously helpful in child guidance was written by Dr. Angelo Patri, educator and author. His column on advice to parents, which I no longer remember any specifically, except for one particular bit of advice. “Don’t tell a child no unless you really mean it. And once having said it, stick to it.”

Perhaps present day child guidance counselors would agree with some of Dr. Patri’s teachings and perhaps disagree with others. I have not read any of his works for many years, but it seems the basics he recommended were to deal with children with love, kindness, firmness and guidance. Think about what you wanted to teach them, or what you wanted them to do, and once having taken a stand, be consistent.

Dr. Danis saved my life in a manner of speaking when I was an apprehensive young mother, frightened that I might lose another child. I was determined to do everything I could to prevent that happening. Not that I neglected my first child, but I think every parent might feel there must have been something I could have done differently, or better, in such a situation. Learning what I could about child care was like leaving no stone unturned to have the best chance at survival.

Chicken Booyah

Chicken Booyah: I don’t know if there is a correct spelling, so I am spelling booyah as it sounds to me. It seems likely that it might come from the word bullion. Right or wrong, I don’t know.

When I began writing this, I did an internet search to see what I could find on the subject of chicken booyah. On one web site I found the following “…northeastern Wisconsin is the only place in the world where Chicken Booyah is found.” I wonder if the residents of St Francois and Ste Genevieve Counties in Missouri know that.

I don’t know how often we had this, only occasionally most likely. I do remember it being made on the river banks of the Dry Fork, when on camping trips, but have no specific memories of those times. The booyah memory that stands out for me was on a Fourth of July in the early thirties. A thick soup, ingredients were cut up: chickens, various vegetables and water/broth. No pot being big enough for the crowd, it was cooked in a large lard can over an open fire in the back yard and simmered for several hours until ready to eat.

Other items on the menu that day that I remember were cases of Nehi soda, cooled in tubs of ice, and five gallon containers of ice cream, cooled with dry ice. I’m sure there must have been other items also, but the booyah, ice cream and Nehi are what stick in my memory.

Friends, family and neighbors gathered, and kids ran around doing what kids do. The ice cream and soda disagreed with my digestion, interfering a bit with my enjoyment of the day, but I thought the booyah was great. I remember getting sick one other time years later, when I had an ice cream soda. Since then soda, or pop, has only been a very small part of my life. I like ice cream and it doesn’t make me ill, but it is something I don’t eat often.

As I recall there was usually a carnival in the town park on the Fourth, with various rides and shows, and a baseball game for at least some of those years. [Dad was manager of the Leadbelt Cubs for several years.] A while after the dinner we all walked over to the park to participate in the various activities there, as much as our pocket money would allow.

As for rides, I only remember the merry-go-round and the ferris wheel. Rides cost just a nickel, but then you didn’t have many nickels. There were a number of booths to take your money, trying to win something by throwing a ball at an object, or trying to pick up coins with a claw attached to a chain. Rarely did anyone successfully pick up any of the coins. If a person could keep the coin in the claw almost to the point where you could drop it into the place that made it yours, somehow it seemed to drop off just before you reached that point. And, of course there was cotton candy and popcorn if you still had room for it.

Sharing: That's A Good Thing

I found out about this making a difference story through my grandson’s Facebook page. A senior at Francis Howell Central, he was chosen as rep to promote the drive there.

The TOMS Shoes Story: TOMS Shoes was founded in 2006 when American traveler, Blake Mycoskie, befriended children in Argentina and found they had no shoes to protect their feet. Wanting to help, he created a company that would match every pair of shoes sold, with a pair given to a child in need. One for One. With a group of family, friends and staff, Blake returned to the same area later that year with 10,000 pairs of shoes made possible by caring TOMS customers. Since that first Shoe Drop, TOMS Shoes has given over 140,000 pairs of shoes to children in need around the world.

See Matt's facebook page for more info. Or email him. matt.mason20@gmail.com

WWII - My First Job

In a previous post, I said that I spent about six months with my husband, during his stateside training, before he left for Europe. This was in the small Texas town of Gainesville, while Melvin was stationed in Camp Howze. As in many other areas, a lot of the young men, and some young women, were serving in the armed forces. Many of those who were not in the service, but able to work, had gone to larger cities for war work and other better paying jobs, leaving a gap in available workers to do whatever local jobs there were. We had a tiny apartment in a group of small apartments, along with several other service men and their wives. I became good friends with one of the wives. She wanted to earn a little money [we all had barely enough to scrape by] and found a job as a kitchen helper in a hospital across town that someone had told her about. When she accepted the job, she found out about another job that she thought would work for me, and recommended me. This was in another smaller, private hospital, a short distance from where we lived. The person she talked to called the manager at the second hospital, and she called, asking me if I would come in for an interview. This was to be a temporary fill-in job: Though if you were a service wife, all jobs were temporary in a sense, once the service man was re-assigned. What the hospital manager wanted me to do was fill in for her for the two weeks the cook was on vacation. Otherwise the manager would have to do the cooking herself until the cook returned from vacation. You really have to be desperate to pull in a very young woman, with almost no cooking experience to fill in for you. We had only been married two months when my husband left for the army. Before marriage, my cooking at home had been practically nil. I was allowed to set the table and do clean up afterward, but my older sister was my mother’s preferred and only kitchen aid. My duties would be: arrive at five a.m., prepare breakfast, set up the trays for the nurses to deliver, unload the trays when returned, put the dishes and silverware in the sterilizer, and clean up the kitchen afterward. By then, it was time to start getting lunch ready. The same procedure as earlier, just different food. Once the clean-up from lunch was finished, I got a couple of hours off, when I went home and collapsed until time to go back again and repeat everything for the evening meal. I felt this job was way beyond my capabilities, besides being a heck of a lot of work, and tried to make the manager see that. But she apparently was h___ bent on getting this job off her hands for the next two weeks. She was too much for me. I told her I didn’t know all that much about cooking. Her answer was, “Neither do I,” as she picked up a cook book, handed it to me and said, “Well, you can read, can’t you.” What came next scared me even more when I found out I not only had to cook, but had to plan the menus and order the food each morning! Those two weeks were the longest two weeks of my life. When it was over, the manager thanked me and said I had done well. Then I found out the manager also had to cook every Thursday on the cook’s one weekday off. the manager called and wanted me to do the Thursday stint too. Yeah! Sure! I lost the first round, but I learned a whole lot about not letting someone convince me to do something I really, really did not want to do. I didn’t want to repeat that performance even one day a week. I steadfastly refused to go to the hospital and talk to her, though she called several times before finally giving up. I got a really big, “dig in your heels” lesson fairly early in life. A cook book saved my life so to speak. That’s how I learned to cook, the same way I have learned many other things since – from a book.

More Blessed to Give Than to Receive

A very interesting news story was featured today on local channel 5 St Louis, both on the morning and noon news. It seems to fall into the category of “It is more blessed to give than receive.”

The congregation had been told they would be given $10,000., broken up into varying dollar amounts to the individual members present. The members were given sealed envelopes of $20, $50, $100, and all were to be opened at the same time. They were told to give the money to a person or organization, outside their congregation, and were asked to write an account of how they had used the money, which would be posted on the church’s web page.

I would have liked to read the follow-ups, but I didn’t find a link to the church’s web site in the KSDK article, or by searching. Not sure why. I found the church and its address, but couldn’t come up with the web site. Perhaps will find it later.

This was very refreshing to hear and to read. I have seen so much recently of the angry, strident Christian, I have at times wondered if the Church has forgotten its mission. Why is so much anger spilling out of so many IF they profess to be Christians?

Is not the Love of God for man the dominant factor of the gospel message of Christianity? The by-product being man’s love of God and for his fellow man?

Is there not a better way to achieve a desired result? Or could it be that the shouting, rebellious Christian just gets more exposure.

This was a heart-warming story. I commend the pastor and the church. I look forward to seeing the results of their efforts to involve the membership in following in the Master’s footsteps.

About This Blog - How Small Is That

Perhaps you think I jump about from topic to topic too much, instead of staying with just one category. I do. I like variety. So we go from memories to food, health issues, ways to trim expenses a bit, to my day’s activities; in today’s parlance, whatever. Besides, if I stayed with just one category, I would have too many blogs for me to manage. I want it to be fun, not a chore. If you read the blog, and you want to see more of a particular topic, let me know. Maybe I can do that, and maybe I can’t. Who knows!

The last blog was about my Memories of the WWII era. This one is from an old saying of my mother’s.

“It’s not big enough to cuss a cat in.” A saying used to describe something which wasn’t big enough to accommodate whatever was wanted. I don’t remember any of the incidents or situations, which caused my mother to use this particular descriptive phrase, but I remember hearing it any number of times. How small is that? When you think about it, any space that wouldn’t be big enough to cuss a cat in would be pretty small indeed. I should think that if you could stand in it, sit in it, or lie down in it, any space at all would be big enough to cuss a cat in it.

Come to think of it, in today’s world, twitter’s 140 spaces would be just about the right amount of space to do what my mother’s saying suggests, but we don’t do that there. Right! Or anywhere else, do we?

World War II - From My Perspective

What was it like in World War II from my perspective? I’m not sure of what I can tell you. So, let’s break into the memory bank and see what we find.

My husband and I were married in 1942, not quite a year after the beginning of World War II. He left for the Army one day less than two months later. We knew this was likely to happen at some point. We were just surprised that it hadn’t occurred earlier. Oddly enough, Melvin had tried to enlist about a year before, in the Navy; but was rejected because of flat feet. When he was drafted some time later, he was assigned to the infantry and walked his way across Europe. Shipboard required better feet than the infantry?

We were married three years before we spent an anniversary or holiday together. In those days, after a soldier was sent to overseas, there was no stipulated time limit before being furloughed home. Once you were in the war theater, you were there for the duration. The men did get a three day pass from time to time, depending on circumstances. And the occasional furlough, to designated places in the general area, then a return to active duty. In later wars, apparently a rotation system was thought to work better.

Melvin was in the States longer than some men were, before getting their assignment to overseas duty, though we were separated for all but six months of that time. He was in a replacement training unit, and some men were sent ‘over’ to replace men who had individually lost their war, while others remained to help train new men coming in. Out of a special buddy unit of three, one of Melvin’s closest friends was sent to Europe for the D-Day invasion. In the all for one and one for all spirit, the other two put up a fuss They wanted to go with Hank. Needless to say, what was was; nobody paid any attention to what left-behind buddies wanted.

Perhaps it was because the top brass knew it was then time for an all out push, but just a few weeks later, the entire division followed Hank to Europe. Melvin and Woody remained in the same unit: Woody was the COs driver and Melvin was a machine gunner. The life-expectancy of a machine gunner was not great. The way I handled that was that I simply did not accept the fact that Melvin might not return. My faith in his return was apparently greater than his. I think when he left, he never expected to return. Fortunately, he did.

That did not mean that I was not concerned, or that I did not say countless prayers, but I did not ask myself, What if he doesn’t return? Or What will I do if he is killed? I did not allow myself to think those thoughts. I concentrated on when the war is over, and when he comes home. However, there was a brief period just before the end of 1944, when things were not going well, when I almost faltered for a moment. It was something like starting to fall, but somehow you regain your balance and right yourself before hitting the floor.

That’s all for now. Perhaps more later.

Hold Fast the Dream

Hold fast the Dream!
Though it may seem
that shining star
is much too far
beyond your grasp,
that you will never clasp
one small beam.
Even though,
don’t let go.
Hold fast the dream!

This was what I taught my children: That if there was something they wanted to do, which might seem beyond the possibilities they could envision,if it was a worthwhile thing, there was almost always a way to be found, but you had to look for it. And if in the striving, there seemed to be a diversion, perhaps this was just a step along the way, and also, perhaps might lead to a new perspective on what they might want to do. The above is what I want them and their children, and those that follow to remember.

Apple Pie Recipe

1 unbaked pie crust {pre-made from store - or make your own}
5 tart apples
2 tablespoons water
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon +
1/8 cup water
1 container (16 oz) Whipped Cream Cheese Frosting or
1 carton Whipped Topping

Tip: I lightly sprinkle sugar on the unbaked pie crust, and bake about five minutes while the apples are cooking. Set aside until needed. Place crust on cookie sheet before adding the apple mixture, for ease in handling & to avoid a possible bubble over in the oven.

Peel and thinly slice apples. Cook with 2 tablespoons water for 5 minutes. (Stir a time or two for even cooking.) Remove from heat. Mix sugar, cornstarch, salt and cinnamon. Stir in 1/8 cup water to make a thin paste. Stir into apples. Pour filling into pie crust.

Bake 400°F. for 10 minutes, then at 325°F. for 35 minutes. (Ovens vary: Check crust color and pierce apples with the point of a sharp knife to see if both meet your approval.)

+ After removing pie from oven, lightly sprinkle pie with cinnamon and sugar; as you might sprinkle toast.

Top cut pieces with a dollop or two of frosting: Alternately: top with whipped topping instead.

Taste: Very good. Problem: Cut and lift carefully when serving. It is difficult to remove from pan without breaking up. I tried various things to see if I could correct this, but have not found the answer. It may be that it is just too heavy for the crust.

This is the recipe I promised you several blogs ago. I adapted the recipe from one which I had cut out of an old newspaper many years ago. No mention was made of the above difficulty.

Personal Safety Tips

An officer from the local Sheriff’s Department spoke to the residents where I live and suggested some precautions we might take towards personal safety and credit or bank theft. As elder citizens, most of us are no physical match for the usually, younger, stronger purse snatcher, or home invader.

One of the things that struck me was his warning to women who put their purse straps under their arm and loop the strap around their neck on the opposite side; or simply around the neck. I don’t do this because I rarely carry a purse with a strap that long, but some do.

He said that if anyone jerked or pulled on that strap, in all likelihood you would fall to the ground. I believe his words were, “You will go down.” We all know that a fall will lead to scrapes, bumps and bruises; but more dangerous, are broken bones or head injuries, which could occur. There is also the possibility of neck injuries, which can have even more serious results, sometimes even life-threatening.

The officer’s point was that “nothing you have in your purse is worth your life.” He suggested carrying no more credit, debit or identity cards in your purse, or on your person than you need. That way if your purse is stolen the thief doesn’t reap much benefit. So, let the purse go, save yourself and perhaps your life. He suggested having a low-limit credit card to use when ordering online. That way if the info should fall into the wrong hands, they won’t get away with too much before the theft is discovered.

Be alert when you're out and about in a mall or store parking lots; going to or from your car and getting in and out of the car.

We were reminded to shred those unwanted credit card offers we receive, and the checks we get, but don't plan to use, on credit cards we already have. Don't throw them in the trash. Shred, shred, shred! I make it a habit to shred all mail or other papers that have my name and address, or other personal information on them.

Another reminder that we may have heard, but also may tend to forget at the time the phone rings and someone asks for it, is don't give any personal information to anyone over the phone. He also mentioned a recently favored scam, where someone calls in the guise of a relative and asks you to send money to an unknown address. Don't just send it; check with relatives!

He also warned that should you become victim to a home invasion, don’t be confrontational and put yourself into more danger than you already are, but cooperate. Let them take what they will, however much you may regret the loss, because again, “Nothing you own is worth your life.”

I have tried to summarize what I took away from the meeting, with the red highlighted “quotes” from Sgt. Bill. Those I believe are verbatim, though I did not take notes, so if different by a small degree, I apologize.

Can't Do What You Want - Do What You Can

If you can’t do what you want, do what you can. Words that have been a part of my life for a very long time. I couldn’t begin to count the times in my life that I have found it necessary to adapt my plans to this idea. Like it or not, there are times when we must adapt to circumstances, and the ability to do that means the difference in our happiness to misery quotient. Needless to say, I have not always been able to do that to the same degree. I believe this falls in line with the Christophers slogan, “It is better to light one small candle, than curse the darkness.”

How many times are we frustrated because we want to do something, and for various reasons, we can’t? So, do we complain? Make a fuss? Do either help? Perhaps they help a little in the sense that we might have released some tension. If we really can’t do what we want to do, whether it is achieving a goal; or alleviating a troublesome situation, what can we do instead?

If we can’t do a specific thing concerning the specific subject of what we want to do, perhaps we can do something else towards the same purpose, while waiting to do what was originally planned. As things work out, it sometimes happens that the original want might no longer be of importance to us after all.

If we can’t do anything at all concerning the plan we had in mind, perhaps what we can do involves something else entirely. And who knows where that will lead? It might lead to something that will help in getting on with what we wanted to do originally. Or it might turn into something else altogether, developing into a new B & B. No, not a bed and breakfast; Blessings and Benefits.

Fat Cells: The Unwanted

Like many other people, I have my share of unwanted fat cells. At one time I was glad to add some of those fat cells, because for the most part of the first 30 some years of my life, I was a Skinny Minnie. I walked around every winter feeling like I was freezing to death. When I finally added a few pounds, it wasn’t quite so bad.

Now, I would like to shed some of those fat cells, if possible. Up to now, it hasn’t seemed to work out that way. Many people think of me as being a small person, and I am as far as stature is concerned. But those fat cells have settled in; some on my mid-section [With maybe a loss of muscle tone. Maybe? Ha!], but more on my hips and thighs.

It seems these cells are like squatters; they settle where we don’t want them, and like it or not, they’re here to stay. I’ve read and heard that once you get fat cells, they stick to you like glue. Can't get rid of them. But – maybe there is hope.

I believe the most important thing is health rather than vanity; but if vanity is the motivator, which leads to good health, that's okay too. One of the helpful things I’ve found in looking for information on the subject is that flax seed oil can be helpful in preventing the turning of blood to sludge in the arteries. When I was first told that I had some plaque in my carotid arteries, I was a bit surprised. My diet was varied, and for the most part, I thought I made healthy choices.

The doctor told me that even though the plaque in my arteries was not extreme, there was a danger that it could stick to the blood and form clots [may not be exactly as he said it, but you get the idea]. These clots could cause really big problems. If you can’t add flax seed in other forms to your diet, a pill or two a day might be just the thing to keep that blood soft and flowing. And prevent a serious health incident before you realize there is a problem. But, please, if you are already on blood thinners for an existing condition, or have other health problems, consult your doctor about what you should do.

Something else I’ve found out about recently that may help with existing fat cells and discourage new ones is white tea. I’ve read a lot of information on it, and I’m giving it a try. It seems promising.

I found the following in an article online giving the possible benefits of white tea: “White Tea Secret Out of the Bag” by Amara Sohn

The “Study says tea may help you shed pounds and prevent cancer. Not only does it increase your metabolism and prevent new fat cells from forming, it may also help prevent cancer, improve your skin and fight other signs of aging, according to the study.”

The article was based on a new study published by the Journal of Nutrition and Metabolism. The article can be found online.

I found a number of articles on the subject, using my search engine, if you want more information.

Hoboes

Dad built the second house we lived in along Missouri Highway 8. He bought the first place we lived there, from a friend, whose marriage had broken up and he moved away. Later he divorced and remarried, and decided he would like to live in his old house again with his new wife. So, Dad built another house for us, which was just across the road and east a bit.

During that period of time, hoboes went through the area fairly often, walking their way to somewhere; or maybe nowhere; just walking. They would usually stop by about supper time and a plate of food was always found for them. I don’t remember the details of any of them except a little of one hobo’s visit.

We had a wood picnic table with bench seats out in the back yard, and ate supper there quite often in the summer time. This time when the hobo stopped by, Mother fixed him a plate of food, and took it out to the table, where he and Dad sat talking. Dad stayed there and talked to him while he ate. Mother returned to the house.

We kids were very curious and wanted to hang around and hear what he had to stay, but we were banished. We were told to go in the house or go play somewhere else outside. Mostly, we went a little farther off from where he and Dad were talking, and watched from a distance as we played, maybe caught a word or two, now and then. Later, Mother called us to come in. I’m sure we were full of questions when Dad came in for the night, but my memory can’t recall that.

We didn’t have a barn there that the man could have stayed in overnight, but since it was on toward dusk by the time he finished eating, I imagine he stayed nearby somewhere. There was one of those big, round pipes [or whatever they were called] under the road, in front of the house. We used to run back and forth through that one when we were playing, and barring an outbuilding nearby, he might have taken shelter there. It was warm weather and he would have been protected from the wind.

A young man who lived with us from time to time, hoboed his way across the country to California, more than once. According to what he told us, he “road the rails,” on some of those trips, but the details are lost to time.

Apple Pie - Old Newspaper Clipping

Recently, I came across an old recipe that I had clipped from a newspaper, probably about 30 years ago, possibly even a bit more. I had never tried it; as I haven’t done with many of the recipes I clipped. [Hey, I like to read recipes in newspapers, magazines, and in cook books.] Most of the old clippings I still had, had gone the way of the blue recycle bag; but somehow this one, found a place to stay and hadn’t been thrown out. I’ve never had too good luck with recipes that I’ve clipped from newspapers. I’m not sure why. Occasionally, though, the recipe lived up to my expectations, or perhaps I should say, my hopes.

This clipping was for an apple pie recipe: no top crust; water added; quite different from the apple pie I used to make. Still - apples, sugar, and cinnamon are a powerful combination. I made plenty of apple pies when my family was around: for holiday meals, Sunday dinner, and the occasional ‘just because I wanted to’ dinner.

My husband and children all seemed to enjoy the apple pies I made, and so did I. I don’t believe anyone else who ate them found fault with them either. But, once upon a time my mother ate with us, or I took it to a bring-a-dish meal. She said my apple pie tasted good, but she liked juicier apple pies. The difference in the pies I made was that I combined a bit of flour with the sugar, dusted it over each layer of apples [usually 3 layers], then lightly sprinkled the layers with cinnamon. The pies were not dry, but juice didn’t run all over when you cut the pie. Mother said she didn’t add any flour to her apple pies.

We all have our own tastes and preferences in eating, and she was a very good cook, so I’m sure my mother’s apple pies tasted good too. [As I said in another blog, the only apple pie I recall her making were those delicious Apple Custard pies.] Even so, if I want a juicier apple pie, I’ll put it in a square or oblong baking pan, and call it, “Cobbler.”

Today seemed a good time to try that clipped recipe. I cut down on the sugar, because I decided a long time ago, that most foods just didn’t need the amount of sugar called for in many recipes. I also cut the amount of water added, and I’m glad I did. [If I hadn’t, I’m afraid that juicy pie/cobbler would have run all over the oven.] The pie tasted very good, but I want to make it again, and then I’ll post the recipe for you. There is one more difference too, but you will have to wait for that, until I do the recipe here.

Horizons

Today’s thought: “A horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight.”

This quote is part of a longer prayer in the Devotions in the back of my Bible. It was meant for comfort in thinking of death, but I think the portion above can be applied in other situations also. Could it not be paraphrased to say, a horizon is nothing, save the limit of our thoughts? I will list the complete prayer, and leave it to you to think about. Needless to say, I don’t know the originator of the prayer.

“O God, teach our hearts to know that Life is eternal, and Love is immortal, and Death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight. Lift us up that we may see further; cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly; through Jesus Christ, our Lord.”

Summer Fun - 1938

Dad decided he would take us on what was then sometimes called an “outing.” The destination: Meramec Springs Park, near St James, not far from where our grandparents lived. He invited the neighborhood kids to go along.

I'm not sure if Mother, with probably Blanche's [my older sister's] help, cooked the food, or if we just took along sandwiches, perhaps cookies and something to drink for our picnic lunch. Whatever it was, we probably ate it with gusto.

We rode in the back of a flat bed truck, belonging to the older brother of my sister’s husband. I think that would not be permitted now; but the traffic and the speed on the gravel road would not have been the same as present day traffic. We all seemed to have a fun day. Since we passed the park on the way to and from Grandpa Stricker’s farm, we had stopped there before, but it may have been a first time visit to the park for some of the group

Being a shortie, I usually get pushed to the front of any group picture, and the other three in front were about my age; so the older, also taller girls took the back row. I am the one in the slacks [as they were then called] in the front row. Pants were not yet in general acceptance in our area for female wear. Mother thought they were much more practical for outdoor activities, than the inevitable dresses usually worn. However, it was back to dresses for all other occasions.

My sister’s head is visible, just behind me on the right. [You can see her pant leg between me and Ruth's skirt. Blanche's slacks were blue with a white stripe; mine were brown with a yellow stripe. Ah, the peculiarities of memory.] The girl next to me on the left was Junella Glore, called Johnnie; a nickname I was unintentionally responsible for giving her, a couple of years later. She was a best friend for a number of my growing up years. On the right was Ruth Mosier, another good friend, and next to her was Avella Mason; a friend, who became my sister-in-law some years later. In back on the left was Nadine French, and on the right Lucille Helms, friends of my sister.

I don’t recall a lot of the details of that day, but we explored the park; had our picnic lunch, generally enjoyed ourselves, and came home tired and happy. Thanks to one of Dad’s ideas of a good time for our family and our friends.

More Aroma Memories

One of my favorite aroma memories was Grandma’s house. She didn’t live near enough for us to run down and visit whenever we might like, but we probably made overnight visits two or three times a year. We entered the house from a closed in porch off the kitchen, that was used as a “summer kitchen” and dining area. It was always filled with the aroma of home-made bread and rolls. Absolutely wonderful! Grandma was a short, plump little woman, with long gray hair, twisted into a bun at the back of her head, who beamed at us when we arrived.

I don’t recall my mother ever making yeast bread. She made biscuits most of the time, and less frequently corn bread. She might have occasionally bought a loaf of bread from the bakery; but I remember also, seeing those pre-sliced loaves of bread, with the brightly colored dots on the wrapper, which we had with some of our meals. Ready-made bread at the bakers was a boon to busy, many-tasked housewives, which reminds me of another place of heavenly scent.

We lived kitty-cornered across town, about a mile from the grade school. About two or three blocks before we reached home, we passed Buehl’s Bakery. I can’t even begin to describe the wonderful scents that teased our senses as we walked by. Mornings were rushed; we could only breathe it in as we passed by. But, on the walk home, I couldn’t resist dawdling, looking through the window; and lucky me when I had a nickel, deciding on just which delicious tidbit I might try. Buehls is my very best scent memory. We lived at that particular place about three years before we moved to the country. The bakery was one of the things I really missed.

My Parents: Life's Lessons I Learned From Them

These are some of the basic things I learned from my parents by word and/or example.

1. My parents did not teach me that I was better than anyone else. They did teach me that I was as good as anyone else. That old, ‘Hold your head up high and walk on through the storm,’ idea. We all have the same rights, not more or less than anyone else.
2. Regardless of what anyone else does, I and I alone, am responsible for my own actions.”Yes, yes, I know he/she did this or that...” Still, I bear the responsibility for what I do.
3. This I learned from my mother, which she may not have put in these exact words; but the message came through loud and clear. Doing something because someone else is doing it, is the poorest possible reason for doing anything. We, or at least I, learned rather quickly that saying, “But everyone else is going to…” was a sure show-stopper with my mother. I suppose all kids want to be like the other kids, want to do the same things; as I did - up to a point. Kids don’t want to be different. However, for whatever reason, I refused on my own some of the things the other kids might want to do. It doesn’t make you popular to go against the grain, but the lesson is worth the learning. Being different makes you what you uniquely are. Being like everyone else helps you get lost in the crowd.

Running Away - Running To: A Five Year Old's Adventure

If a child runs away from home, it is usually a serious matter; and even dangerous, in some instances. When I was four and a half to five years old, I ran away from home. However, I wasn’t trying to leave home so much; I was just trying to go to a place where I so wanted to be. I ran away to school.

I started school in the fall after my fifth birthday. I suppose I had pestered the family about why my two older brothers and my older sister could go to school and I couldn’t. I’m sure I was told that my turn would come as soon as I was old enough. So-- what does that mean when you’re four or five years old? I suspect my young mind said, “Not fair, not fair!” Another six months, another year, that was forever!

We lived then, in a very small town; I suspect just a few hundred people. The school probably wasn’t more than a couple of blocks away; perhaps a little more, but it couldn’t have been much more than that. At that time more people didn’t have cars than did, so traffic wasn’t a problem, thank goodness. I doubt that I had been taught crossing-the-street-rules.

One day, Bob, my next younger brother, and I were playing in the back yard, while our mother worked in the house and looked after Pres, our baby brother. He would have been about a year old at the time. While we played at whatever games children played then, apparently this approximately five year old little girl, decided that it would be a fine day to go to school. We calmly walked out of the yard when mother, busy in another part of the house, wasn’t looking.

I took Bob by the hand and we walked down to the school and into the classroom, astounding the teacher and the class. Bob was about two years younger than I was. I don’t know what he thought, and I don't remember what I thought either. I didn’t know what to do next, but I think the teacher took care of that by asking us what we were doing there. I simply told her that I wanted to go to school. I was in charge of my little brother, so it seemed a natural thing to take him with me.

Our school day was short lived. The teacher sent one of our older siblings to tell mother where we were. We were fetched immediately; I’m sure my mother was embarrassed. It seems strange, but I don’t remember what my punishment was, for committing such an unwise act and causing a commotion! Justice was usually sure and swift where mother was concerned, so I strongly suspect that I was not only soundly scolded, but spanked as well. I can understand that, since we probably gave her the “parent scare,” and took her away from whatever tasks she was trying to accomplish. Bob was totally not to blame, so I hope he was spared any punishment.

I never regretted having committed such an audacious act for a five year old. That, to me, was my big adventure, and it was worth it. I thought that school building and the classroom were the greatest things I’d ever seen.

Comments

Please feel free to comment on any of the posts available here. It lets me know you’ve been here; it lets me know what appeals to you, or otherwise. I am interested in what you have to say, whatever it may be. The only exception would be that any comment with profanity or crudities would be deleted. I don’t expect that from anyone who might comment; it’s just outlining the rules -- something akin to looking to the left and the right before stepping off the curb.

Formerly, the setting for comments was "Registered Users Only." You didn't have to sign in to read the blogs, but you had to sign in to comment. I've changed that, and now you don't have to sign in to leave a comment, if you want to do so.

P.S. I've found that isn't quite true: You don't have to "Register" with a sign-in, such as Google, or other, if you don't have it, or just don't want to. What you can do is click on the sign-in space as "Anonymous" and then leave a comment. You can leave your name in the comment if you want to, so I will know who you are.

Killing a Pizza

I killed a pizza today. One of the day’s lowlights, but not too low on the scale of things that matter. Actually, I didn’t kill an entire pizza, just one piece of it. I micro waved it to death. As I have said, I live alone. When I decide I want a pizza, after eating what I want; there is still a lot of it left.

I wrap the individual pizza slices in foil, put them all in a plastic baggie, and store the baggie in the freezer. I take them out one at a time as I want them. Today, I put one of the slices in the microwave, while I did small chores in the kitchen. The pizza wasn’t hot enough after the first warm up, so I gave it a second go, with a bit less time. One end was still cold, so I gave it another 25 seconds, on about 40 percent power—or so I thought.

I realized the microwave was still humming away, when it should have stopped. I turned to look at it and there was way too much time left! I hit the clear button, and opened the microwave door. Apparently when I hit the power button, I missed it, and hit a number instead. The pizza was hard as a rock, and shrunken to about half the size it had been.

There were several slices left, so I repeated the process with another slice of pizza. This time I paid more attention, instead of just glancing at the timer while doing something else. No more hard rock pizza. I was able to eat it this time, not feed it to the garbage disposal.

Family Vacation

A loosely planned auto vacation was one of the best vacations we ever had. We intended visiting Smoky Mountain National Park and we did. We took along a tent in case we wanted to camp out. However, someone had been killed by a bear in the park the night before. Suddenly the idea of sleeping in a tent lost its appeal. We decided something with stronger walls surrounding us would be preferable.

We did some exploring in the area. Then my husband said he had an old army friend in South Carolina, he always wanted to look up if he was ever there, so how about we extend the trip to South Carolina. We found Melvin’s friend; they invited us for lunch, and we had a very nice visit.

After that Melvin asked, “Where next?” I replied that I had always wanted to see Virginia, so how about we go there? We greatly enjoyed Virginia, especially me. Then Melvin said since we were this close, he thought I should see the ocean, being the only person in the family that had not done so. We went to Virginia Beach, Virginia. It was a gray, cloudy day, and you could hardly tell the difference between the sky and the ocean. But I was glad I got to stand there on the beach and see that great expanse of water. On some point along the east coast we got to tour a large military ship and that was something too. The two guys really liked that. Years later I saw the ocean in Florida, a beautifully blue sea and sky, with lots of sunshine. But that first glimpse of that gray ocean at Virginia Beach was a special thrill.

Now, it was time to think about which route we would take to go back home. Our teen age son spoke up and said, “Since we’re this close to Washington, D.C., I think we should go there and take a look at the White House.” We drove to D.C., visited the Capitol Building, saw the Washington Monument, Arlington and so on. We drove by the White House, stopped and looked around. Unfortunately, we only got to see the outside. It was Monday, and the White House was closed to visitors that day. Even so, I was glad our son suggested it, because that was the only time I got to visit the nation’s capitol.

Swinging westward, we drove through Pennsylvania, stopping overnight at a motel where the altitude was rather high, with red water in the faucets, and clouds you could almost touch. From there we made our way home. A thoroughly satisfactory vacation.

A Child's Prayer

Many of us are probably aware of the nightly prayer that goes thus: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

I’m sure this prayer was meant to ensure a sense of security in a child while he slept. And the sense of knowing our soul would be taken to be with the Lord would be reassuring to someone older as well. However, when my children became old enough to say nightly prayers, one line of this prayer bothered me, where the children were concerned. I did not want the thought that they might die while asleep to be last in their minds. Yes, it could happen, but I did not want that to be a source of concern for them.

About this time I had found, and bought a big, thick story book that was filled with short stories and poems for children.That's the book that one of the girls left lying in the floor, and their Dad stumped his big toe on it one night, when walking around barefoot in the dark. A very big ouch! [Sorry, kids; I don’t know what happened to that book. We had it for many years; it lost both front and back covers, but eventually disappeared.]

Among all those poems and stories was a child’s prayer, similar to the one quoted above, but with a variation. This one went like this: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. When in the morning light I wake, Help me the path of life to take.” With this prayer the Lord would keep them through the night, and go with them through the coming day. As one of my little brothers used to say, "It was more better." I liked it better for the children, and it is a pretty good prayer for adults too.

Trekking Again

Yesterday’s trek didn’t include as many stops as the earlier one I wrote about. This time only three places to go. My computer keyboard wasn’t working properly, so I had switched to one that was from an older computer. The older one, though it had seemed like a soft touch when I used it before, had a much harder touch than this newer one, which didn’t actually last very long. The older keyboard made my fingers sore, so I decided I had better buy a new one.

First stop - The computer store. I found a ‘wireless’ keyboard for about $40. There are no wires leading from it, or to it; but there is a wire from the device that plugs into the USB connection on the computer box. I also bought some DVD disks to back up my computer and for file storage. I wanted to take some pictures off my old computer, store them on the DVD, to use with the newer computer. So far, the old computer doesn’t recognize the DVD, though that drive is supposed to be for both DVD and CD. I haven’t installed the new keyboard yet, because I wanted to get those pictures first. So much, for well laid plans.

Second stop - lunch. I had intended to stop for tacos while I was out, but as I went by in the mall, I passed another restaurant. I hadn’t been there, or hardly anywhere else this past year, so decided I would eat there instead. The lunch was very good, even better than I remembered. The service was slooow. The waitress asked me if she could get me something to drink. I said, yes, but I could go ahead and give her my lunch order too, since I knew what I wanted. I had certainly had plenty of time to study the menu.

The waitress took the order and I waited for my coffee. She was in and out among the tables she served, but never brought the coffee. I saw other customers come in, get their drinks, and have their food orders taken. Some were helped a bit by someone, apparently from the hostess crew. Perhaps the server had too many tables to cover; however, others were being served, while I waited and waited. Finally, she walked near my table on her way to the pickup area, and looked my way. I asked her if I could have my coffee, please. She said, “Sure.” I waited another several minutes, and then finally, she brought the coffee, along with my food order. No coffee refill was needed, since I got my drink so late.

I didn’t say anything about waiting to bring the coffee with the food. If that was the server’s assumption, then I hope she learned to ask, not assume. Even though I’ve given my drink and food order to servers at the same time, many times, I’ve never had this happen before.

I think watiressing is a hard job and I usually tip rather generously. I was not feeling too kindly disposed towards the server at the moment. Though I didn’t say anything unkind to her, her tip might have been better, had she behaved differently. But, as with the previous trek, I learned something too. In the future, if I give a server, drink and food orders at the same time, I will add, “I would like my drink now, please!”

Last stop - grocery store. Just routine, folks. Actually, I suppose the last stop was home, or at least the place where I reside.

Carolyn's Work Place: Discipline#comments

Carolyn's Work Place: Discipline#comments

Shingles: Update

When I saw the doctor recently, she smiled and said she had no magic pill for me. Ah, if only! She told me that this enduring pain from shingles could last for years. Naturally, that is not what I wanted to hear, though I already knew it was possible. I accept it as a fact, but I do not live with that expectancy. I live with the expectancy that each day may be the last day of pain, and that tomorrow might be the day that I wake up, with no more shingles pain.

I have plans for the first day of no shingles pain, and when it happens, I would like to shout it from the rooftops. If ever I was going to dance on a table top, that would be the day. Since I can’t dance on the floor, the table tops are safe. I’ve told some of my neighbors, here in the senior community where I live, that I will put an announcement on the bulletin board to let them know that what I refer to as the dratted shingles is finished with me. They won’t need to ask how I am anymore, except as a polite greeting.

I have another plan that involves singing. Anyone who knows me, knows that I cannot sing anymore, if ever I could. Sometimes it is a struggle to talk, and some days, I do more squeaking than speaking. Inflammations brought on by second hand smoke, and other pollutants, have done well their damage to my vocal chords.

I’m having fun with this blog which I recently started. Along with other things, it helps keep my mind occupied, so I can sublimate the shingles pain - somewhat. To all who suffer so much more than I do, you have my prayerful thoughts; I wish you surcease from your discomfort. May spiritual sunshine imbue your entire being.

There Is An H In It

I will say in advance that I do not pretend to perfect grammar. Still, there are idiosyncrasies of speech that sometimes irks me. A case in point is pronouncing white as wite. It is particularly annoying to me, to hear the White House called the Wite House.

Some years ago, one of the TV game shows, I think it was Jeopardy, had a category like: spelled differently, but sounds the same. Two of the words used were whine and wine. The person who made up the category may have pronounced whine as wine, but the pronunciation is not the same for the two words. Wine is wine; whine is ‘hwine.’

If someone were told to stop wining, I would think he/she was being told to quit drinking. If I heard them say, “Stop whining,” I would think they were trying to stop a fussy complaint. [Oh, am I whining here?] If you say wite for white, do you say wat/wot for what? What about which; do you say which, or witch? Do you say wen, for when? If you can say what, you can say white. Don’t take my word for it. Look up the pronunciation key in the dictionary for these WH words.

If we speak of our country’s official home for our president and family, past or present, let’s remember, that our presidents and their families, live in the WHITE HOUSE. We’ve probably all heard, at some point the phrase, "get the H out" of something. I want to put the H back in those WH words, where it belongs.

Carolyn's Work Place

Along with everything else she does, Carolyn has two or three blogs to keep up with. Try the following URL to see what she has to say.

http://wwwefusjon-life-carolyn-lynnked.blogspot.com/

Chicken ‘n Dressing – From Leftovers

I’ve heard various people say they don’t like leftovers. That’s okay; I don’t like some leftovers either. But, I do try to make good use of leftovers when I can. And they don’t always have to be just heated in the microwave. Sometimes they can reappear as something else. Most of the time, I deliberately cook, so I will have leftovers. That way, when I don’t want to cook, and don’t want to go out and get something, I can have something ready to eat in a few minutes – no extra cost.

The first bit of advice I received, about using leftovers, was many years ago, when reading a column by a psychologist. I don’t recall all of it from this distance in time, but I believe he was advising people with limited incomes, on making the most of what you have. In that instance, it was leftover mashed potatoes. He said that you could put a little butter, along with a small amount of milk; heat and stir as they warmed up, and they would taste as good as new. I tried it and they were pretty good. More about this later; today is about chicken.

I live alone, so there is only me to cook for. A grocery store near my home has a very good deli. Sometimes I buy a whole, small broasted chicken, which for one person, with my-sized appetite, means several meals. That was among my purchases on my last shopping trip. I prefer the white meat, but I take off the thigh and drumstick portions, which will be two more meals later on. I put these in the freezer so I can take them out one at a time, when I want to. I do notice that my blood pressure goes up ‘a little’ when I eat the dark portions, but since I only do this occasionally, I think I can get by with it. I stick them under the broiler, either with or without barbecue sauce, in my counter top broiler-oven. No extra preparation to speak of.

I had already had two servings of the white meat, but still had some left. The notion struck me to make a chicken ‘n dressing dish for my dinner. I took the bony parts, along with a couple of chicken bouillon cubes, about one/fourth small onion, covered with water; and cooked it for 10 to 20 minutes to make stock. I had some leftover Italian bread that was beginning to dry, so used that.

We have traditional sage dressing, or at least traditional for our household, at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Rarely is it ever made at other times. The kids know how they want it made, and how it should taste, with no variation. But, in the years since my children left home and there was only my husband and myself to cook for, I have occasionally experimented with chicken and dressing in the same dish. Since I only have myself to please now, as far as cooking is concerned, I used the leftover white meat chicken, the drying Italian bread, chicken broth, eggs, a small amount of milk, onions and sage as usual; but added some chopped broccoli florets [not a lot, but enough to say: vegetable included], and a small amount of chopped celery. I made just enough for an 8 inch square pan. Baked at 350 degrees about 35 minutes or so; began checking at 30 minutes. [My oven temperature is not always reliable.] A bigger pan and more dressing would change the cooking time.

I want to tell you, family and others, to my taste buds; that was the best dressing I ever made. The extra vegetables, not usually included, did not change the basic taste of the dressing. I had it again for lunch today, this time warmed in the microwave, and it was as good as it was yesterday.

Barb On The Go

Barbara:

If you want to know what Barbara is up to check here:

http://bjcondra.blogspot.com/

You can get a glimpse of her life when she has a moment or two at the computer. Her blog is new, too, and she had a busy several weeks right after she began it. She has posted some interesting family events from this summer and has just done a new post on a study they will be having at their church titled, "What If You Had Only One Month To Live?" Sounds interesting. More to come, I'm sure.

Gypsy Wanderers

In the blog about my Dad, I mentioned the man who lived in a house by the side of the road. Where we lived, the road in question was Missouri State Highway Number Eight. Actually we lived in three different homes by the side of that road, and each has its own story. The gypsy story came about when we lived in the first of those three houses.

There were several acres attached to the house, and a long grassy strip ran between the house and the road, probably extending three or four acres in length. The time period was the 1930s, and at that time, No. 8 was still a gravel road. Trucks and cars traveled the road, but there were also people going by in horse-drawn wagons. I do not recall, for certain, the vehicles the gypsies drove; but I believe they were older model light trucks.

It was not unusual for gypsies or hoboes [another blog later on?] to travel this road. However, their reputation was not the best. It was said they had a knack for picking up anything that was loose, if you weren’t looking. I don’t know if that was true, or blown out of proportion, as things sometimes are, because someone had a bad experience. It is not my intent to malign them, but merely to recount the incident, to give you an occasional glimpse of our lives at that time. The spokesperson for the group asked Dad for permission to camp overnight on that ideally long, grassy strip of land. What else would the man who lived by the side of the road do, but say yes? Although we were, by Dad’s example, taught kindness to others, we also were taught to keep some wariness of strangers, and look out for ourselves. I’m sure some of the neighbors thought Dad was crazy. He wasn’t; he was simply a good man.

Dad went out and talked to the people, while they worked, to get an idea of who his overnight guests were. They built a camp fire, cooked their supper, and invited us to come visit around the campfire, after they finished their meal. Dad sent word to the neighbors. The parents didn’t come up, but they allowed their children to visit. The youngest child was a girl about 10, my friend, a year or so older than I was. The ages of her brothers and sisters, ranged probably from the early to late teens.

As so often happened in those days when a group of people got together, the time around the camp fire was spent in story-telling and singing. One of the songs frequently sung when people got together was, “Froggie Went A Courtin’.” I only remember the chorus of that song. And “Where Have You Been, Biily Boy,” although I am not sure of the title of that song. That may be just the beginning line. Another favorite was “Red River Valley.”

We, perhaps, were a bit edgy with this new experience, but we were enjoying ourselves also. They encouraged us all to participate. One of the girls sang a song that had a line saying, “You can’t go to heaven taking a chew.” She got a bit nervous thinking she might have offended some of the men who were chewing tobacco, and was afraid to sing anymore.” If they noticed the implication, it was ignored, and I only recall having a good time listening to the stories, and the tales the gypsies told of their nomadic life.

Time Saved, Time Lost, Lesson Learned

Two weeks ago Monday I picked up several books from the library. Thinking ahead, I got a couple of more books than I thought I would read. It seems I outsmarted myself. My plan was to renew them online, saving myself a trip, and still have plenty of reading material until I was ready to take them back. They were due Monday of this week. Late afternoon, I went online, checked “All Books;” then checked "Renew all.” Up popped the message, “Can’t renew. Book has been requested.” That has never happened to me before in all the times I’ve renewed books here. When I did go to the library, I had several errands planned for that direction. I wasn’t ready to do that yet. I wanted to go to Dierberg’s, which is in the opposite direction, so I could replenish some of their deli foods. I didn’t feel like going anywhere yesterday, so put it off. Today, I thought I’d better get over there and drop off the books, so whoever was waiting for the one on request could have it.

I didn’t want to do all the errands I had planned today, but that would mean I would just have to make another trip that way soon. I decided I would go ahead and do all the errands in that direction anyway, and then on the way back, pass up my street, then on to Dierberg’s. When you don’t want to cook for just one person, it is nice to have some ready-cooked food on hand.

First I drove to the library. These were all right turns on the way out. Coming back, I made three left turns and two right turns to get back home. After I left the library, I stopped at the gas station to fill up my gas tank for the first time in just under a year, by me; and by anyone, for more than seven months. I had my son-in-law fill up the tank for me, when they were here at Christmas 08, so I could take advantage of the cheap gas price at that time. I didn’t think ithe price would stay that low very long. Today the gas was not cheap! Next I drove to City Hall to pick up “Blue Bags,” the city’s recycle bags for paper, plastics, cans, and bottles. Coming back, it was a straight shot down Mexico Road to Salt Lick to go to Dierberg’s, where I spent too much money. I left home just before 12 noon and got back home about 1:30 p.m. By that time I was ready for lunch, and then some.

When I turned in the books, I told the librarian, I had tried to renew that one book too, but couldn’t because it had been requested, so it was overdue a couple of days. After all that, as she checked in the book, she told me that it had been released from the request. Apparently another book had come in, or perhaps from another library. So, I wouldn’t have had to go in that direction after all today. I could have gone to Dierberg’s late morning, so the deli foods I wanted would be ready, and have done a more leisurely junket for all the other errands [no doubt more would have been added later] at another time. NEXT TIME, I’ll call and see if the book is still on request, so my conscience will rest easy, and I won't have to make an unnecessary trip.

Pennies to Dollars

We all know grocery costs have gone up considerably in the recent past. Prices have increased on many items. There are some things you can do to cut costs when you shop for food. One of these is the use of coupons. Do you use them? I do, sometimes. There are many coupons that come here, through the mail and in the local newspaper. Many of them are for items I know I won’t purchase, so are of no use to me. When I find a coupon for something I do use, I clip the coupons, but I’m careless about it. I forget to take coupons to the store with me. I let them expire, which annoys me with myself. I do manage to take advantage of some of them.

There are also coupons you can find on the Internet and print for your use when shopping. This morning I saw an ad for Boost on someone’s web site. Boost is my favorite of the convenient energy drinks available, so I clicked on the URL to see what it was about. On the Boost site, they had a coupon you could use towards the purchase of a Boost Multipack. The coupon was for $2.00. That is a good savings, so I’m going to be sure I don’t let it expire. I also plan to be on the lookout for other coupons that might be useful to me. Good luck with your shopping – and saving.

Seeding: A Follow Up

What I said about our parents allowing us to go to the church we chose to was true. My memories of this period are from when I was about five years old, and while we lived in the small town of Leadwood. Before five, I have just a few scraps of memory. A couple of years or so later, we moved a few miles west of Leadwood to a rural community. There were only two churches available: A Baptist Church and a Pentecostal Church. The Baptist Church did not yet have a building. That came later, and Dad was instrumental in getting it built. I’m not sure if the Pentecostal Church was there already, or built not long after we moved to the area.

At that time, we children mostly attended the Baptist service, but occasionally went to the Pentecostal Church also. After my parents became Christians, they united with the Baptist Church. My mother’s parents [mother and stepfather] were Baptist, as was Dad’s mother. Mother told me that Dad’s parents attended the Baptist Church when she knew them. Years later, Dad told me that his mother was a Baptist, but “Pa” was a Methodist. I found out in my genealogy searching that both Grandpa Bowen’s grandfathers were circuit-riding Methodist preachers. When my parents became members of the Baptist Church, we attended that church as a family. However, we were free to go to services at the other church if there was no service at the ‘home’ church. A revival might find us at either church.

I have no memories of my Grandmother Bowen because she was buried the day I was born. Grandpa Bowen left us when I had just turned seven. I have a few good memories of him, but he left us much too soon. He and Dad were at Grandma Bowen’s funeral when I was born, and they came home to find that I had arrived while they were gone. As a result, Grandpa Bowen and I had a very special bond. As a small child, I missed him terribly, when he died.

Mother’s stepfather was as exemplary a Christian as I have ever known, and he was a wonderful grandfather. He and Grandma were active in the small rural church they attended near St. James. I was told in later years, by some of the people I met in my genealogy research, that Grandpa Stricker was a lay preacher at the church, when no ordained minister was available. He was a man who lived his faith. If all we Christians put our faith into practice as he did, what would the world be like? Pardon me, if I sound like I'm preaching. I blame it on the genes passed down by those old Methodist preachers.

Benefits of Sleep

Want to Control Your Weight? What to do First?
Would you believe? See that you regularly get a good night's sleep!

Except for the occasional sleepless night, and the difficulties in sleeping caused by what I call "The Dratted Shingles," I usually sleep seven hours or so. I have some pounds in some places I'd like to shed, which I will get to another time.

We've long been told that a good night's sleep is essential to good health. Our bodies, minds and emotions need the rest 'from our labors' that provides the restoration we need to meet the next days challenges. I've recently heard an emphasis on the relationship of sleep to weight gain or loss. So, I set out to see what I could find. It is said that a continuous lack of sleep can throw the metabolism out of kilter, which can lead to difficulties in maintaining healthful weight, as well as other problems, and can lead to very serious consequences. Some of what I found is below. I am surprised that this is not a new study. It is dated 1999, but it seems someone has awakened and begun to emphasize the relationship of sleep and weight.

The following is one of the headings:
Lack Of Sleep Alters Hormones, Metabolism, Simulates Effects Of Aging

If you want further information, more of this article can be found at:

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/1999/10/99/99102507/5844.htm

The above URL is where I found the article I mentioned. I clicked on it to see if the URL took me there. I got the sciencedaily page, but it said the page I wanted was currently unavailable, even though I was able to go back to the page again. If you are interested in this specific article, and can't find it, I found it by typing in "metbolism, weight loss or gain."

Good luck, and good health!

Pillows for Our Heroes

I saw an appealing story on television this morning. A woman, who teaches young children at a craft school, heard that soldiers in Iraq had no pillows to sleep on. They folded their clothing to put under their heads. She decided to make a small pillow for them, each pillow having a different patterned fabric. The pillows had been sewed on three sides, leaving one end open. The children stuffed the pillows, and then stacked them, to wait for an adult to make the final seam. The pillows were sent to the soldiers, and the class had received a number of thank you letters from them. One Thank You letter, with a picture of the soldier, who had received a pillow, hung on the wall. As the teacher read from the plaque, towards the end, a male voice joined hers: the soldier who wrote the letter, walked up behind her. I tried to find this story on the web; I thought you might want to see it for yourself, but so far have not located it. Perhaps it will be posted later.

I don’t recall the teacher’s name; but what did she teach, in addition to crafting? How many expressions of love were displayed in the making and distribution of the gift pillows? How many people were, or will be, influenced by her act of kindness? I believe she is an exceptional person; someone who would be a delight to know. I also believe there are other exceptional people in our land, doing good things, that we just haven’t heard about yet.

Shingles

We have probably all heard the phrase, “What I got for Christmas.” In this instance, I’m referring to, “What I got for Thanksgiving.” In a word, Shingles. Why am I writing about this? Because I want you to know, if you don’t, what I didn’t learn, until too late. There IS a vaccine for Shingles. I usually pick up on things like that, which are beneficial to life and health, but somehow I missed out here. Now, I know it has been available for several years. I’ve been told that they can’t guarantee that you won’t get shingles, if you have the vaccine; but if you do, it shouldn’t be as severe.

I had a doctor’s appointment around the first of October; the next scheduled visit was in late December. Between these two appointments, I learned about the shingles vaccine. I intended to ask the doctor about it when I next saw her. Meanwhile, ‘up jumped the devil,’ that was shingles. If you haven’t heard that expression, neither have I for quite some time. I heard it fairly often in earlier years, which was meant to describe an unpleasant, or unwanted happening.

If you have had chicken pox, you could get shingles, and our vulnerability to them is said to increase as we get older. A bad thing about this, is that having shingles doesn’t give you immunity from them. You can have them again and again, I’m told. It seems they can range from mild to pretty awful. I had, an apparently quite severe bout of shingles, and am not free of them yet. I am now into the ninth month of this. Believe me, you don’t want that. From the way my back looked, at its worst, the pain could have been even worse; but it was bad enough as it was. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that it wasn’t worse!

Unfortunately, my shingles began on my back; at my right shoulder [a part of the body not frequently in your visual field, as a rule]. As I found out later, if they can treat you within 72 hours, they have a better chance of limiting the effects. By the time I knew about the rash, I was well into the 72 hours, and Thanksgiving Friday, the doctor’s office was closed, as is usual. The first indication of anything wrong, was a sore spot below my shoulder blade, the day before Thanksgiving. I thought I had pulled a muscle, or bumped into something that I paid no attention to at the time, and had perhaps left a bruise. Thanksgiving evening, while talking to my second daughter on the phone, I said, “Ouch,” as I moved in the chair, and felt a stab of pain. She asked what was wrong. I said, “Nothing, I suppose I’ve done something that has made a sore place on my back. I’ll check to see if I can see anything there, when I get ready for bed."

Later, I checked out my back, with the aid a hand mirror. I saw a rash marching down, and across the right side of my back, from my shoulder to within an inch or so from the bottom of the shoulder blade. And across from my spine to my arm. A couple of days later, rash appeared on my right chest. In another two days, a rash appeared on the back, and under side of my right arm, from my body down to the wrist. The rash may lead to blisters, then scabs as the blisters dry up. About a two to three inch wide area, angling from my spine over to my right side, had the worst part of the blister-scab part of it. The chest blistered, but the scabbing wasn’t as bad. The arm only had rash.

The intense, searing, stabbing, pulling/twisting pain in my chest was the worst, even though it didn’t look as bad as my back. At times, it felt as if something had hold of my chest and was trying to rip the skin off my body. The back pain was intense and constant, with some of the stabbing, but not the searing, pulling/twisting of the skin on my chest. The arm, even though it only had rash, rivaled the other two places for the intensity of pain. The skin on each of those places was extremely sensitive [still is], and my back had a special don’t-touch-me attitude. It still does, but the pain is not quite so intense. My clothes touching my body, at times, has been torture. It is still a problem, but not quite as bad.

The first three months were pretty bad. I felt awful in general, and thoroughly miserable in the areas affected. At the end of the three months, someone drove their car into my living room, and I can tell you, that didn’t help at all. The pain isn’t as bad now, but it is still here. There hasn’t been a day yet free from pain and/or discomfort The severity has lessened, but it has never stopped. Sometimes when I sit in a chair reading, and don’t move at all for a few minutes, I don’t feel it. But, it is there, just waiting for me to move, so it can let me know that it is still around.

Sleeping was difficult, with maybe 20 to 30 minutes at a time. An hour’s uninterrupted sleep was a good stretch. Being so uncomfortable, you didn’t always go back to sleep right away, so you might get 2 to 4 hours sleep in all. There were several nights when the sleep total was zero hours. After a couple of months, the time gradually increased; moving more toward the four hour level, and began working upwards, but was still in broken snatches. Or perhaps long periods of wakefulness, until your body finally surrendered to exhaustion, before sleeping.

I am describing what happened to me in detail, so you will know what shingles can be like. Some people have it worse than I have. How I feel for them!

I’ve heard people say that Medicare doesn’t pay for the vaccine, and that it is expensive. Some have mentioned $200. And others have said about $300. If it would have prevented the pain and discomfort, of these last months, which was extreme at times; I would gladly have paid that, whatever it took.

I’m not suggesting that you get the vaccine. It’s not my place to do that. That’s for you and your doctor to decide. I’m just letting you know the vaccine is available. How I wish I had known about it a couple of months earlier!